


Put a new heartbeat inside of me

by dejas



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dejas/pseuds/dejas
Summary: “I don’t have a soulmark,” Dante says, wrinkling his nose. He doesn’t recall any strange freckles— any unusual marks— nor does he recall anyone pointing anything out.Ever. At least not until today.“Dude.” Mat laughs, shaking his head, whacking Dante at the back of his neck.( Or Dante totally has a soulmark. )





	Put a new heartbeat inside of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaoticjost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticjost/gifts).



> As always, if you found this upon googling, exit immediately. This is a complete work of fiction and in no way am I implying that anything written in here is true. Stories are not meant to be circulated or shared with those written in them. All is loosely based on some real events, that is all.
> 
> I was prompted to do a soulmates story and this is what came of it.
> 
> Thank you to the countless people who beta'd and cheered me on throughout this fic for the past few months. I've been wanting to finish something with this pairing for a solid year now and finally did it.

Dante doesn’t know much about soulmarks, because he’s never seen one in person— not until Mat shows up one day, laughing and dropping his pants in the Fabbro family kitchen.

“Dude, what the hell!” Dante shields his eyes, gasping, eyes darting to the other room. “Put your pants on! My _sister_ is in there!”

“Please,” Mat says with a smirk. “Have you seen Sophia? She’s _definitely_ seen an ass before.”

Dante groans, hand slapping his palm to forehead. “Again, _sister_. I don’t want to hear that!”

“Just look,” Mat says and though Dante doesn’t exactly want to, he does, because if there’s one way to get Mat to comply, it’s to do what he says first. He’s, thankfully, clad in boxers, Adidas sweatpants pooling at his feet. “It’s a soulmark.”

Dante blinks, then, almost immediately, laughs. “On your fucking thigh?” 

“Shut up.” Mat turns slightly, taking a better look at what looks like a swoop of fresh ink over smooth skin. 

“Who is he?” Dante doesn’t recognize the writing, but knows it has to be significant. That’s the whole point of soulmarks. He knows they’re rare— that if you get one, you’re one of the lucky few. Dante doesn’t think _he’s_ lucky, but isn’t surprised Mat was chosen. Mat’s always been a step ahead of the rest. And he says _he_ easily, knowing how broad and different Mat’s social circle is. Whoever wrote it has to be someone Dante’s never met. The soulmark is only a few inches wide— small, sloppy and what he thinks might be in French. 

“Tito.” Mat laughs, a soft, simple smile forming.

“Thank God it isn’t me.” Dante exhales. He knows it wouldn’t be him. The most Dante can say in French is “yes,” and only because when you’re a kid and you hear it for the first time, it sounds downright scandalous. Mat doesn’t seem phased, shrugging and running a finger across his own mark with a big, dumb smile. Dante knows all too well what that means. He’s serious. Mat’s _never_ serious.

“Well no shit,” Mat says, pulling up his pants. “You’ve already got yours.”

 _Thank God_ , Dante thinks, because the last thing he needs to explain to his family is why Mat Barzal is pantless in the middle of their kitchen. Then, brain processing Mat’s words, his heart just near stops. “My what?”

“Your soulmark.” Mat snorts, tone implying that Dante must be hiding something— that he can’t possibly not know he’s marked, too.

“I don’t have a soulmark,” Dante says, wrinkling his nose. He doesn’t recall any strange freckles— any unusual marks— nor does he recall anyone pointing anything out. _Ever_. At least not until today.

“Dude.” Mat laughs, shaking his head, whacking Dante at the back of his neck.

“What the hell, man?” Dante punches Mat in the shoulder, rubbing at his neck afterwards. Being a complete douchebag isn’t new for Mat. Dante’s learned to accept that early on. It’s the joking about something that’s, in retrospect, pretty serious and scary and life changing all rolled into one giant ball that’s a little fucked up. It’s not like Mat to joke about something like this. 

“Your _soulmark_ ,” Mat repeats, motioning to the back of Dante’s neck. Of course he wouldn’t know he has one. He can’t see it.

Dante’s first instinct is to panic because… what the fuck? The wheels are a bit slow to turn, but when they stop, Mat’s eyes go slightly wide. It’s when Dante looks at Mat, eyes widening too, that both realize this is a new discovery. Mat isn’t screwing with his head. There’s something— his soulmark— there. 

Still, none of it makes much sense. How long has he had it? What _is_ it? He brings his hand up, touching the skin at the nap of his neck. It doesn’t feel any different, obviously, but knowing— that does. 

“What is it?” Dante asks when he’s able to finally muster up the courage. 

“It’s,” Mat begins, leaning in for a closer look. “Your soulmark is a penis, bro.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Dante’s stomach drops. No. There’s absolutely, without a doubt, no way he’s been walking around unnoticed with a dick on the back of his neck. Mat’s full of shit. “What is it really?”

Mat rolls his eyes, grabs his phone and snaps a photo. When he’s finished, he shoves it in Dante’s face. “Here.”

Dante grabs the phone, taking a closer look at the circular mark. It’s small— quite easy to miss. He furrows his brows, trying to figure out why his soulmark looks similar to the type of sunshine a child would draw— fat and round, surrounded by outward lines meant to represent each individual ray of light. It’s… 

“Kinda gay,” Mat says.

“Summerland,” Dante mumbles, because a sun could mean a million things. To Dante, a sun means one thing. It means summers at the lake, surrounded by friends and family. It means consistency. It means Summerland.

“Yeah, who’s surprised.” Mat shrugs. “That’s where you do your best work.”

Dante nearly chokes on air. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“That’s like, your go-to place when you’re trying to get laid, man.” Mat laughs. “You brought half of your BU guys there two summers ago.”

Dante wrinkles his nose. “I did _not_ hook up with my teammates.” Which isn’t the complete truth, but Dante’s not one to kiss and tell. Either way, he thinks that’s one chapter that’s over with. If Jake were his soulmate, he’d be petty— _his_ soulmark would be a big, obnoxious American flag that Dante couldn’t scrub off no matter how hard he tried.

He likes Jake. Jake likes him, but there’s a fine line they had decided to stop crossing when they both left BU. Jake’s a good friend— a close friend— a friend for life. But that’s about it. He’s a little relieved to realize that Jake isn’t his soulmate.

It’s someone softer— kind with a bright, loving smile. It’s someone he’s sure he could stand being around in just about any situation. It’s just the _who_ that he’s still a little unsure of. 

..

Tyson angles his hips down, grinding slow and purposeful, mouth parted halfway and looking downright obscene. It’s almost too much for Dante to handle and something in the back of his brain sparks, reminding himself to _do something, idiot_. He moves a hand to Tyson’s hip and means to speak, but all that comes out is a groan.

“You like that?” Tyson says it oh-so-sure of himself and yet tinged with innocence, like he doesn’t know by now just how easily Dante succumbs to his moves.

Dante nods, attaching his mouth to Tyson’s neck and nibbling lightly at the skin. Tyson gasps softly, tilting his head and inviting Dante in to suck a spot that they both know will leave a deep, purple bruise later on. 

“Don’t tease,” Tyson whines, eyes dark, as if he isn’t the definition of a tease himself. 

“I’m not the tease,” Dante mumbles, sinking his teeth into the very spot he’d kissed seconds ago. He can tell by the sounds Tyson’s making that he’s beginning to crumble.

Tyson shifts, pressing down _just right_ , sending a shiver through Dante’s spine. His hand moves, slipping between them, wrapping around Dante, stroking lazily as he grins through heavy, lidded eyes. “I want this.”

“Gathered that,” Dante says breathily, flipping Tyson onto his back easily. Then, it’s his turn to grind down, head already spinning when the heat between them builds. 

“Hurry up.” Tyson’s fingers brush the back of Dante’s neck, pulling him down into a bruising kiss. Dante thinks he kisses back, brain short-circuiting the second Tyson’s fingertips press against what he now knows is his soulmark. There’s something there— _a spark_ — that makes him aware.

Still, it’s a fleeting thought, washed away and overshadowed by the way Tyson hooks a leg around him, hips rolling up until they’re both far too gone to care about anything but what they’re chasing.

“Please,” Tyson whispers when Dante presses a lube-slicked finger into him, tilting to adjust and whispering a low, drawn out, “ _more_.”

One finger becomes two and then once Tyson’s left a shivering, speechless mess, Dante slips them out, crawling between his thighs. He likes the way Tyson looks when he’s all wound up— how easily his body reacts to the lightest touch.

“I got you,” Dante says, stroking himself with lube and slipping between his thighs, settling in easily. Tyson gasps, fingers splayed at Dante’s hip, fanning over his skin, curling just enough when they grip onto him.

His hand taps once— twice. “Just _move_ already.”

This time, Dante does as he’s told, pushing down further, bottoming out with the softest of sounds. Tyson’s breath hitches, shifting beneath Dante’s weight, hips turning up slightly with the forward pull of his knees. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” Tyson says, face slightly flushed and pupils blown wide. He rocks his hips slowly, grinding up until Dante’s reciprocating, the slow drag building up until he’s rolling down with quick, rough thrusts.

It doesn’t take long until both are panting, Tyson’s leg hooking around Dante _just right_. 

“Jesus,” Dante groans with a satisfying shudder, sliding his hand up Tyson’s chest and holding him down firmly by the shoulder. “You’re going to make me come.”

“Yeah,” Tyson exhales and looks up, eyes somehow even darker. Being held down doesn’t keep him still— it seems to wind him up, bringing him just as close. “That’s the point.”

“Not if you do first.” Dante stills, holds his breath, hand wrapping around Tyson’s dick and beginning to stroke ever so slowly.

It’s answered with a low moan as Tyson jerks up into his tight, half-closed fist, fingers closing around Dante’s wrist. “Fuck,” Tyson says, like it’s almost unfair.

Tyson’s fingers run through his hair, tightening around the strands. When he tugs, it’s short and blunt, followed by a growl that’s just enough to tip Dante over the edge. He pulls out, hand shifting to his own dick, coming just a few short strokes later.

“I win.” Tyson laughs, short and breathy, fingers trailing up Dante’s arm. It’s a short-lived victory, if he can call it that, hand wrapping around his dick with hurried, desperate movements. 

Dante leans in, kisses him square on the mouth and slips his hand over Tyson’s until Tyson pulls back, allowing him to take over. When he comes, eyes shut and hand pressed against the back of Dante’s neck, Dante swears he can _feel_ his soulmark reacting with a blunt sizzle.

“Think we both win this one.” Dante half rolls, landing on his side. It’s quiet and all he has is the rustle of the sheets as Tyson shifts followed by the steady sound of Tyson’s breathing to remind him that he’s still there. 

“Double OT,” Tyson whispers, cheerful and sleepy all rolled into one, tugging Dante’s arm around his waist.

Dante turns, pressing into Tyson’s back, gratefully accepting his position as the big spoon. He’s in and out of sleep, eyes heavy, when he focuses on the back of Tyson’s neck. Tyson’s fast asleep or at least doesn’t budge when Dante’s eyes snap open and he sits upright.

Hands shaky, he runs his finger over the mark. There’s no spark, but the skin’s warm to the touch. When he leans in for a closer look, Dante squints. It’s not an exact copy of his, just eerily similar. It’s round, semi-squiggly rays protruding and— there’s no mistaking it.

It’s still a _sun_.

..

“I think I banged my soulmate,” Dante says, sounding well above panicked.

“Yeah?” Mat laughs. “I bang mine all of the time. Well. Sometimes he bangs me. We’re really quite versatile if you—”

“Not the point!” Dante feels his face grow hot because banging your soulmate when he _knows_ he’s your soulmate is one thing. Doing it on accident, both none the wiser, is just— “It’s stupid, forget it.”

“Nah,” Mat says, getting a little more serious. “Does he know?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think he knows?” Dante runs a hand over his face, mumbling something— _stupid, stupid, stupid!_ — incoherently. When he lifts his head, Mat is doubled over, laughing. “It’s not funny!”

“Dude, it’s _so_ funny.” Mat wipes what’s likely a fake tear all for show. When he’s able to pull himself together, he grins, hand at his hip. “So when do you plan on telling Josty?”

“Who says it’s Tyson?” Dante probably talks about Tyson a little too much— using his first name instead of a nickname gives him away. They’re close— inseparable when time allows. Still, he’s not quite the open book, like Mat. Dante doesn’t kiss and tell.

“It’s _not_ Tyson?” Mat snorts. “Dude, I just saw him leave this morning.”

“It’s not _not_ Tyson,” Dante says, deflecting to the best of his ability. Which isn’t very well.

Mat rolls his eyes. “So it’s Tyson.”

“I didn’t say—” Dante’s annoyed, more so when Mat halts him, hand in his face.

“ _Dante_.” It isn’t like Mat to be so stern.

Dante looks up, voice soft. “What?”

“Just tell him.”

“I can’t tell him,” Dante says, incredulous. It involves confrontation. It means admitting there’s more to what they’re doing than hooking up. It means putting his heart out there for Tyson to take and do whatever he wants with it. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

Mat, still unhelpful, can only laugh. “Soulmates, dumbass. The whole point is that they work out.”

If you asked Dante some six years ago, when he was young and not even quite sure he _liked_ the idea of dating— when all he did was eat, sleep and breathe hockey— he never imagined he’d be standing in his parents’ house, listening to Mat Barzal of all people giving him romantic advice.

Mat Barzal who slept his way through World Juniors. Mat Barzal who said there’s no reason to settle down. Not when you’re young and in the NHL. Mat Barzal who now, like Dante, is bound to his very own soulmate.

“Fine,” Dante says, waving his hand dismissively, knowing all too well that there’s no easy or sensitive way to bring this up— not when there’s still that slight chance that Mat could be oh-so-very wrong.

It isn’t like he doesn’t like Tyson. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Dante’s known Tyson almost as long as he’s known Mat and thinks— no, _knows_ — if choosing your soulmate was a thing, he’d pick Tyson. Hands down. “It’s just…”

“It’s _nothing_ , man. Don’t fuck this up.” Mat shakes his head, turning the corner and disappearing into the kitchen. Dante doesn’t have to look to know that he’s helping himself to whatever’s in the Fabbro family fridge.

“I’m not fucking anything up,” Dante settles on. “Because I’m not ready to tell him yet.”

“Why the fuck not?” Mat comes back with a bottle of water, a banana and one of those if-looks-could-kill types of faces Dante knows better than to mess with.

“The soulmates thing. It’s like, complicated, you know?” Dante watches as Mat pulls back the peel of the banana, taking a big bite. “If he’s my soulmate, then it’ll happen like it’s meant to, right?”

“True,” Mat says, voice muffled and mouth full.

“But if he’s not?” Dante doesn’t think he can vocalize just how hard losing Tyson would be. Their bond is one Dante isn’t willing to break on a hunch alone. “I’m not risking that.”

Mat rolls his eyes for what’s probably the sixth time in an hour. Dante’s lost count. When Mat’s finished with the banana, he hands Dante the peel, patting his arm. “Just so you know, I told Tito he was my soulmate. I didn’t wait.”

“Your soulmark is in French,” Dante retorts, wrinkling his nose and holding the peel between two fingers. “Clearly that one didn’t take a genius to figure out.”

“Fuck you,” Mat says, opening the bottle of water and taking a long drink. When he lowers the bottle, he tilts his head, pushing back his hair. “And you’ve been boning Tyson on and off for what, five years now?”

 _More or less_ , Dante thinks, though that isn’t the point. “And?”

“So even if he’s not your soulmate, he likes you enough to put up with your stupid ass,” Mat counters and okay— he deserved that one. An eye for an eye or something.

“I’ll tell him,” Dante says, inhaling, silently tacking on an _eventually_. He’ll tell him when the moment is right, perhaps after a few beers, when the bonfire is low or when Tyson’s eyes are heavy and he’s just moments away from drifting off to sleep. Both options are safe.

“Good.” Mat flips the half-empty water bottle, catching it with a grin. “I’ll await your wedding invite.”

Dante would be lying if that didn’t make his heart flip— not that he’s ready for marriage. It’s the commitment part that gets him— the idea of Tyson being his and vice versa. He clears his throat, shaking his head, trying his best to push that idea into the back of his head for another day. First things first. “Only after we’ve attended yours.”

It does the trick. Mat shuts up, squeezing the water bottle as if he’s slightly distraught.

 _Good_ , Dante thinks.

“Anyway,” Mat clears his throat, and shrugs, unbothered— or, as Dante knows— pretending to be. “Gotta head to the gym. See ya later man.”

When Mat leaves, Dante laughs. It doesn’t put him at ease— stomach still turning over when he thinks about Tyson in _that_ way. It’s something he considers a work in progress— something he’ll reconsider when they meet up again. Then he thinks about Mat, pushy and judgy and how easy it was to get the upper hand. How Mat, though bound to a soulmate, isn’t ready to jump the gun, either.

And maybe— just maybe— Tyson _could_ be his soulmate.

..

It feels good to skate again, fresh off a silver medal win. Dante remembers Tyson’s face— the slight disappointment when they’d lost— the way his frown turned up into a smile when Dante, through his own disappointment, reminded Tyson that last year’s team went home empty handed. When they leave Slovakia, there’s no promise of next year. Dante vows he’s making a run for the cup. He remembers Tyson laughing, poking his side with a, “meet you in the finals.”

A whistle blows and Dante turns to see several kids stop at one end of the rink. They’re skating with some Burnaby kids during a routine practice and Dante can’t help but wonder if Tyson knows his soulmark’s been discovered— if his jacket is zipped up, collar covering his neck for a reason.

They’re at the other end, Dante skating aimlessly, Tyson passing a puck that he shoots between his legs and even though it’s technically not playing together anymore, it’s _nice_. 

“You think any of those kids are like us?” Tyson looks over his shoulder, grinning.

“God, I hope not,” Dante says, tapping Tyson’s skate with the end of his stick. “We were trouble.”

“We were,” Tyson agrees, skating forward and lessening the space in between. “Still are sometimes.”

Dante blinks slowly, smile forming. If they were alone, he’d reach up, brush his thumb across Tyson’s cheek and close that gap once and for all. He feels the familiar warm prickle over his cheeks and then something hits his shoulder, jolting him to attention.

“Seriously you two?” Gabe cuts in between them, pointing to the kids, half of whom are already coming down the stretch of ice. “We’re doing some passing drills in five.”

“Right,” Tyson says, skating off with a grin.

It isn’t until he’s just outside of earshot that Gabe turns back to Dante, eyebrow raised. “Pick it up, Sunshine.”

Dante feels the nudge and watches Gabe skate away, but it isn’t until he’s already halfway down the ice before the weight of those words really shake him to his core. It’s a small mark. Nothing that would be noticed from across the rink— especially with his hoodie covering most of his neck. But something must have shifted when Gabe came close, just enough to make out the swirl of the sun and the short, straight rays. Gabe _knows_ it’s there.

It’s not like he cares Gabe knows.

One of the kids skates by, holding out his hand and Dante fists bumps him, smiling. Then two more make their way around, shouting, laughing and reaching to do the same. 

“Stay focused!” The coach shouts from the other end and Dante laughs, zipping his jacket a few inches higher. He knows it’s the kids being reprimanded— that, really, he’s volunteering to help out for the day. Still, it’s a good reminder to worry less and work hard.

Compartmentalizing his feelings is an easy task until the practice ends and the children gather around for autographs and photos. Tyson kneels down in front of one of the smaller kids, signing his jersey, hand out for a satisfyingly loud high-five. 

Tyson’s good with kids. He has a younger sister and Dante’s pretty certain he’s in part of why she’s just as kind and strong as he is. Dante likes kids. He smiles when they do, laughs when they get overly excited from a simple signature and feels a slight tug at his heart when the youngest one stands sheepishly before him.

“You been playing for long?” Dante kneels down, signing the front of his jersey. The kid just nods. He’s a little shy, which Dante can understand. He’s met plenty of big names himself when younger. “You did great out there.”

It’s enough to make the boy smile, eyes lighting up. “Thanks Mr. Fabbro. You’ll see me in the NHL too someday.”

“Oh yeah?” Dante grins, fist bumping the child who’s already looking excitedly looking around for his mother. “I’ll be watching.”

They take a few more pictures including one large group one to wrap up practice. By the time Dante’s in the locker room, he’s surprisingly exhausted.

“Those kids can skate, huh?” Tyson’s jacket is unzipped now, though Dante doesn’t dare look. He knows the mark is still there.

“Yeah,” he laughs, dropping his hands to his sides. “It’s not bad, though. Good for us to stay sharp.”

Tyson hums in agreement. “We have all summer for training. Don’t you have a degree to finish?”

“Working on it,” Dante says, tapping the side of his head. There’s online classes and homework and more papers than he wants to think about— things that are stressful at an elevated level when you don’t have the discipline of a classroom. Luckily for Dante, he’s used to stress.

“Are you going to relax ever?” Tyson crosses his arms across his chest, eyebrow raised. It’s a rich accusation coming from someone who worked as hard as he did the summer prior. Not that Dante didn’t work just as hard.

Dante just snorts. “Are you?”

“Mhm,” Tyson says, lifting up his skates. “Summerland this weekend?”

Dante subconsciously mimics Tyson, grabbing his skates, turning for his stick. “Sounds great, thanks for the invite.”

“Idiot.” Tyson taps Dante with the other end of his stick this time, smiling. “I mean if you or your family’s heading up to the cabin, it could be fun. I know Paddy’s itching to get out on the lake. Been blowing my phone up for weeks.”

“Yeah,” Dante laughs, thinking of just how saturated with the word _Summerland_ the group chat has become as of late. It shouldn’t be too hard to get a group of guys together. “I’ll let you know.”

“Sick, bro, alright.”

It’s one of those moments that Dante thinks could be perfect should he be brave enough to lean in for the kiss. In the end, neither he nor Tyson move forward. It’s Dante who smiles, his laugh soft and slightly shaken. Dante, who, as much as he’d rather not, turns away. “Yeah, later man.”

..

It turns out that finding your soulmate isn’t as easy as some people (ie: Mat) would make it out to be. Dante spends a good portion of his night staring at his ceiling, skipping through Spotify every few minutes until he lands on something that’s way beyond the cusp of depressing.

He’s not, like, depressed or anything. Life is good. It’s just… confusing, he decides, somewhere between a Vance Joy song that collectively makes him nostalgic and his stomach drop upon listening. 

Logic says to stop fighting himself and admit how he feels— not just to Tyson, to himself. He isn’t getting any homework done so he mentally curses Mat, grabs his keys and heads straight to Tyson’s. 

“Hey.” Dante leans against the doorway, arm slipping enough that it causes him to stumble. He’s quick to recover, but it’s so far from smooth that he can already feel his cheeks flushing with slight embarrassment.

Tyson snorts, sitting up on the couch. “What’s up?”

“Do you know how we, like, uh,” Dante says, unsure how to phrase _fuck_ a little less harshly. “Do things?”

“Yeah, why?” Tyson grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “You wanna?”

“No!” Dante runs a hand over his face. That isn’t why he’s here and yet— “I mean, God, I always want to do that. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Tyson says, laughing, “do I ever.”

Dante sits at Tyson’s feet, knowing as good as a distraction as it may be, it’s still not the answer. It’s a temporary fix, burying all of his feelings deep down when he knows they’ll surface sooner or later. “I mean, we can just talk too, you know.”

“Is that why you came over?” Tyson edges closer to Dante, voice low. “To talk.”

“Yes,” is what Dante decides is the acceptable answer.

Not that it matters. They have sex anyway.

When they’re finished, Tyson’s curls are little more unruly and Dante’s neck covered in small, reddish-purple marks. Dante turns onto his side, not all that surprised to see that Tyson’s still awake. Tyson smiles and it isn’t the first time Dante’s noticed a Tyson smile— it _is_ the first time he’s noticed a potential-soulmate’s smile, though. It feels much more private when he categorizes it that way— like from here on out, all of Tyson’s smiles are reserved for him. It’s kind of ridiculous, he tells himself, because Tyson’s bound to smile about other things— hockey, a good joke, a bouncy puppy— but these smiles— the single, soft ones, pointed right at him?

 _Shit_ , Dante thinks. They’re not regular Tyson smiles anymore. They’re _soulmate_ smiles.

“So, uh, the cabin,” Tyson says, sitting up and raking back his hair.

“I haven’t invited anyone yet.” Dante tries not to think about how many times he and Tyson have done this— how one thing leads to another and then, as if nothing happened, they’re back to being the best of friends— nothing more, nothing less. It’s probably something they should talk about. They just… _don’t_.

“Well why not?” Tyson grabs his sweatpants from off of the floor, tugging them on. “You don’t want to go now?”

Dante shifts. He already cleared a few days with his family and the cabin is as good as his for the weekend. What he didn’t do was text any of the guys. “I mean, maybe.”

“I thought we were going to have fun,” Tyson says, grabbing another pair of sweats— Dante’s— and tosses them into his lap. “You’re not _really_ spending the whole summer in the gym, are you?”

“No,” Dante says a little too quickly and far too loudly. “No,” he repeats, quieter. He’s going to work out. _A lot_. Still, Tyson has no room to call him out. Come crunch time, both will be preparing for another long season. It’s June. There’s no reason why he can’t relax. Dante slips into his sweatpants and grabs his phone from the bedside table. “I’ll text the guys, alright?”

Tyson smiles, looking proud and far too pleased in a way that really messes with Dante’s head. He’d kiss him and thinks he might try it then and there, but then, before he’s able to move in, Tyson’s up and out of bed. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah,” Dante hums, getting up and reaching for his shirt. “We’ll talk about it more tonight, alright?”

“Perfect,” Tyson says, smile big and bright. “Can’t wait.”

And, yeah, _perfect_ , Dante thinks. It’s a perfect opportunity to relax if he can get past the whole being in love with Tyson thing. Just his friends, some fun, the sun and— oh, right, the practically matching soulmarks.

..

Dante doesn’t think about Okanagan Lake for a solid week. He trains, he studies and doesn’t mean to full on ghost everyone outside of the gym. It just… happens.

When he finally arrives in Summerland, Tyson isn’t too far behind. He’s busy cleaning out the firepit when a familiar vehicle pulls up and out steps Tyson in a black hoodie that fits loosely and a pair of dark grey shorts.

“Hey,” he says, moving his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Anyone else here yet?”

“No,” Dante replies, hands on his hips when he stands and examines the cleaned out pit. It’s clean enough, so he turns, walking over to where Tyson stands. “You’re early.”

“Oh.” Tyson laughs, popping his truck and pocketing his keys. He turns, grabs his duffel bag and shrugs when he motions towards the smoking grill. “Well, what’s for lunch?” 

Dante’s head whips around quickly and though it’s not as bad as he’s expecting, there’s enough smoke billowing out to warrant being checked on. He runs over, flipping the lid and fans at the air. Luckily the chicken he’s grilling is still edible. He can’t say the same for some of his vegetables. “Chicken and mixed but mostly charred veggies.”

“I’ll eat those ones,” Tyson says with a shrug, slipping behind Dante with a mischievous grin. “I’m going to go claim my room.”

Dante doesn’t go with him because he’s got lunch to finish up and now a grill to scrub otherwise there’s a lecture from his father to follow. Once he’s finished scraping the grilling racks, Tyson’s back, this time in a pair of dark blue swim shorts.

When they sit to eat, Dante tilts his head, watching as Tyson pops some grilled zucchini into his mouth. “You know the rest of the guys won’t be here for another two days, right?”

“I know,” Tyson says cheerfully in between bites. “I wanted to get some quality Dante time before you’re too busy.”

Dante smiles even though he knows exactly what Tyson means by quality time— not that it’s ever stopped either of them even when the rest of the guys were around. It’s something he tells himself not to overthink. Tyson’s here for a good time.

“Wanna take the boat out or lay out on the raft?” Dante pushes his empty plate to the middle of the table, leaning back in his chair. 

“Raft,” Tyson says with a slow forming grin, motioning to his car. “I brought some beer.”

And, _okay, cool_ , Dante thinks. That’s an idea he can get behind. He nods, standing, gathering up the plates and wants to leave them there for later but thinks better of it. “Alright, be right back.”

Dante takes his time washing the dishes, watching as Tyson drags the cooler towards the dock. It’ll be just an arms reach away from the raft. “Clever,” Dante says to himself. He thinks they’ve probably done this before— but his memory is hazy.

All he remembers is Tyson closing in on him after one too many beers. They didn’t kiss or anything— at least not then. That came later— _after_ — and Dante’s pretty sure it was solely out of convenience.

When he looks back outside, Tyson’s gone.

“Hurry up.” Tyson’s voice comes from somewhere behind him, making him jump. 

“Jesus,” Dante mumbles, turning off the sink— realizing he’s been done for minutes now. “How long have you been standing there?”

Tyson laughs. “Long enough to know you’re an idiot.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Dante rolls his eyes, drying his hands and throwing the balled up hand towel at Tyson. It hits his side, bouncing, rolling across the floor.

Tyson snorts, shaking his head. “You don’t make sense.”

The thing is, Tyson isn’t wrong. There’s days when Dante wakes up motivated, but there’s also days he stumbles through, awkwardly. Those are the days he allows his heart to feel _too_ much. Those are days like today.

He’s good at composing himself in front of Tyson, walking by, head ducked as he pulls his shirt off. The noise Tyson makes followed by the brisk sound of his footsteps are all he needs to pull himself together. He can do this.

“It’s warmer than earlier,” Dante says when he walks along the dock, climbing into the raft.

Tyson nods, reaching for a beer. “Wow, yeah. Good thing the beer’s cold.”

Dante grabs one for himself, leaning back against the hot vinyl of the raft. He could go for a swim, but it’s nice to sit and talk— not that they do. There’s a familiar country song playing in the background and Tyson sways, sipping his beer with a smile. It’s… oddly endearing.

“I have to tell you something,” Dante says quickly because he knows if he puts it off any longer, he’ll swallow those words and pretend he never considered telling Tyson how he really feels. His heart begins to beat faster as if it knows exactly what it is he’s been yearning to say.

Tyson lifts his head, smiling when their eyes meet. “What?”

“Um.” It’s hard to look at Tyson— harder to look away, which says a lot when they’re on such a beautiful lake. Dante shrugs, re-thinking his plan, because if he fucks it all up then what? Tyson’s smile fades as he raises an eyebrow and Dante’s stomach just drops. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Tyson says, oh so naive, reaching across the raft to pat Dante’s knee. It’s a nice gesture. One that Dante isn’t sure he’d received had he actually said what was on his mind.

“Yeah, it’s nice out.” Dante turns his head up towards the sun, eyes closing when he takes in the warmth. He doesn’t have to look to know Tyson’s smiling. He can feel it. “Wanna take the jet ski out?”

“Nah.” The raft barely shifts and Dante knows Tyson’s moving. “I want to sit here and drink.”

“Fair enough,” Dante says when he opens his eyes again. Tyson’s closer this time, reaching over him to grab one of the beers.

He doesn’t speak again until after he’s successfully taken one long drink from his beer bottle, lowering it so that his eyes reconnect with Dante’s. “That wasn’t what you were going to say, was it?”

It takes Dante by surprise— so much so that when he opens his beer, he fumbles, nearly spilling it everywhere. Cursing, he wipes a wet hand on his shorts. “What, you think I hate when you visit?”

“Of course not.” Tyson laughs, sliding across the raft until he’s settled next to Dante. He grins, head resting on his shoulder. “You’d be bored without me.”

Dante’s heart skips a beat. Tyson doesn’t know how right he is.

..

It rains, which kind of sucks, because they’re only able to swim for a good half hour. The upside is it cools off enough that they don’t have to retreat inside for the rest of the day. Dante puts up the umbrella and they sit on the deck exchanging stories of the pranks they pulled during their Penticton days.

“Do you remember when we tied Paddy’s skates together?” Tyson laughs, eyes crinkling, barely able to finish his sentence. “He was mad for weeks.”

“ _You_ tied them together,” Dante corrects, his laugh full. In the moment, it _was_ hilarious— Paddy standing, stumbling and tripping all in a matter of seconds. He can still picture the way his eyes dart across the locker room, passing a hysterical Tyson and landing right on Dante. “And then I took the fall for it!”

“Yeah, well,” Tyson says, laughter subsiding, his smile soft. “Thanks.”

Dante wrinkles his nose, because he remembers waking up with a face full of shaving cream and Tyson trying his best not to laugh. Tyson _did_ laugh, though— harder when he had to admit Paddy had put him up to it. “You still owe me.”

“I brought you beer.” Tyson wiggles a finger, going to retrieve two more. It doesn’t really make up for Dante nearly snorting shaving cream, even if Tyson helped him wipe it away afterwards. He was gentle, through his laughter, but Dante thinks most of that was guilt.

“I cooked you lunch,” Dante counters, laughing when the rain picks up and Tyson’s left without cover. “That’s karma you know!”

“It’s just water,” Tyson says, shugging, taking his time as he walks back over. It’s a little cooler, the sun hidden behind the clouds, and Dante imagines the rain has to feel good. When Tyson sinks back into his chair, he pushes a can across the table. “Besides, you’re in swim trunks.”

Dante hums, opening his beer. It’s not like they’ve done any actual swimming as of yet. He’s quiet, counting the times he’s noticed Tyson’s soulmark in the last few hours, wondering if Tyson’s seen his. If he is, he isn’t admitting to it.

The clouds break and it stops raining, Dante only noticing when Tyson leans forward, poking his arm. It’s likely to sprinkle again in another ten minutes, but it’s nothing uncommon in the early summer. “You home up there?”

“Yeah,” Dante says, ducking his head. “Just thinking.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “College guy.”

“You went too,” Dante points out with a laugh, even if his college career was much shorter. Tyson hated the homework and the early mornings. In the end, a degree wasn’t that important. It’s one of the few ways they differ. 

“Ask me what I learned.” Tyson grins, tipping back his beer.

Dante tries his best not to laugh, failing miserably. It’s nothing academic, that’s for sure. “You’ve shown me.”

Tyson laughs and Dante thinks he might make a move, but then he crushes his beer can and drops it on the table like they’re at some sort of frat party. He shifts like he’s going to retrieve another and Dante makes a grab for his wrist.

“What?” Tyson tugs back, giving his best offended look.

“Nothing,” he shrugs.

“You know how I know you’re full of shit?” Tyson grins, pulling himself up from his seat. He doesn’t go for the cooler, passing it to step out on the dock. When he turns, he answers. “Because you’re doing that face.”

Dante scowls, taken aback. He stands to follow Tyson and purses his lips, slightly offended because he most definitely does _not_ make a face. When he reaches the end of the dock, his hands meet his hips. “What face?”

“That everything-isn’t-fine-but-I’m-going-to-say-it-is face.” Tyson snorts.

“Everything _is_ fine,” Dante says, trying his best not to make _any_ face.

“That’s it!” Tyson laughs, walking dangerously close to the edge of the dock. “That’s the face!”

“Yeah, well, what about _your_ face?!” Dante rolls his eyes, knowing he’s grasping at straws because if he’s honest, Tyson’s face is pretty nice to look at no matter how ridiculous at times.

“ _My_ face,” Tyson says, grinning, “is perfectly handsome.”

Dante laughs, shaking his head. If Tyson’s testing him, he won’t falter. “Your mom tell you that?”

“No, yours did.” Then, as if to punctuate his sentence, Tyson’s hands come up, pressing against Dante’s chest. He grins, leaning close and just when Dante thinks he’s going to kiss him, he _shoves_.

When Dante surfaces, Tyson is doubled over with laughter. He pushes his hair back, eyes narrowed. It would be easy to pull Tyson in but part of him thinks that’s what Tyson’s expecting. He, instead, grumbles and climbs out, bumping Tyson when he passes him. “Thanks, asshole.”

Tyson pouts, like he’s upset Dante isn’t playing along. It’s a game they’ve played for years, like tag, just a little wetter, he supposes. He can’t help but shiver when the clouds cover the sun again. Normally it’s funny. This time, he’s left frustrated for reasons he can’t quite understand.

“Lighten up,” Tyson says, following after him, but Dante doesn’t look, grabbing a towel to wrap around himself. It’s about then it begins to rain again. He can hear Tyson close behind, footsteps light when the cross the dock. “You can’t actually be pissed.”

“Why not?” Dante turns, wrapping the towel tightly around his shoulders.

“Because I’m here,” Tyson replies, simple as that.

And Dante wants to roll his eyes. He wants to tell Tyson not to be so cocky. It’s just… he’s right.

..

Tyson’s doing this thing that’s half pacing, half staring off into space and Dante’s known him long enough to know that there’s something weighing heavily on his mind. It makes concentrating on the peppers Dante’s trying to cut near impossible and when he speaks, his voice is low and cautious. “Do you ever do something really stupid and then regret it immediately?”

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?” Dante laughs, setting down the knife and trying to ignore that pit in his stomach that warns him where this is heading. He can’t read minds. If he could, maybe this would be easier. His stomach flips again and all that he can think is Tyson’s _something stupid_ isn’t just a _something_ , but more of a _someone_. The _something stupid_ is him.

“Fair enough,” Tyson says with a smile. It isn’t forced, but Dante knows it’s there for show. There’s something behind Tyson’s eyes that Dante recognizes from years of playing together. It’s that same look that came whenever they were down 3 goals— when Tyson would smile, rally the team and remind them that _anything_ is possible despite what the clock says. Dante’s caught him a time or two, cursing under his breath— both of them knowing it was pretty much bullshit.

Dante inhales, bracing himself for what’s likely to be more bullshit. “So what was it?”

Tyson’s brows furrow and he pauses, as if searching for the right words to say. He turns his hand over, focused on tugging one of his fingers awkwardly. “This isn’t like our Penticton days is it?”

“No, we’re older now,” Dante says with a laugh. It’s the best he can do to keep himself from freaking out over the unknown. It’s not entirely a lie. He thinks back to the nights when Tyson would sneak across the room and slip into his bed. “We don’t have to wait until our billet parents are asleep before I stick my hand down your pants.”

“You didn’t always wait,” Tyson responds, quick on the uptake. It makes Dante blush. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

 _Of course it isn’t_ , Dante thinks, not wanting to ask but knowing he has to if Tyson’s going to spill. “What _are_ you talking about?” 

Tyson opens his mouth to speak and stops himself, as if he’s re-working what it is he planned to say. On most days, Tyson’s an easy read. He’s smiley and a little too talkative, always telling a joke or chirping someone. It’s when he’s like this— quiet and reserved— that Dante worries. It takes a few more seconds for Tyson to exhale, forcing out his words. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, why?” Dante takes two steps forward. His first instinct is to protect Tyson from whatever it is that’s making him uneasy. It’s safe to say he wouldn’t hesitate coming to Tyson’s aid in any situation. It’s an easy decision. Tyson always has his back. “Did Mat say something stupid? I’ll throw his sneakers in the lake.”

“No.” Tyson’s laugh is short and he quickly reverts to the quiet, slightly fragile version of himself that Dante doesn’t think he’s seen since that World Juniors tournament they don’t talk about. It’s hard for Tyson to even look at him now. “You’ve been acting different lately.”

“Different?” Dante raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t think he’s changed but then Tyson looks at him and there’s something behind his eyes that tells him maybe he _has_ been acting differently, unintentionally. 

“I know we’ll never be close like we used to, but,” Tyson says, voice trailing off momentarily. “I don’t want things to be weird between us. You’re like, one of my best friends.”

It’s bad timing. Dante knows it’s bad timing. But then Tyson stops pacing and something in the back of Dante’s mind tells him it’s now or never. 

“I’m, like, in love with you?” Dante doesn’t know why he poses it as a question when it’s probably the most sure he’s ever been about anything— _ever_. He’s more sure than he was when it came down to picking and choosing colleges— when he decided to go to Boston instead of North Dakota— when he hated leaving Tyson behind, but knew they’d be okay. They had Summerland. He’s made tons of decisions— ones that left him pacing, calling his father at odd hours and nearly ripping his hair out. This one— Tyson— is like, 100% without a doubt one thing that was never a question. He makes sure to repeat it, knowing Tyson’s probably already freaked out from hearing it once, but twice solidifies it. “I’m in love with you.”

Tyson’s silent, expectedly. It makes Dante’s heart pound harder, worrying him that he’s fucked it all up— that maybe Mat _was_ wrong— that soulmarks don’t have to match— that this was all some weird coincidence that’s going to simultaneously end their friendship and break his heart. 

On the bright side, Tyson isn’t flipping the raft and taking off for land or laughing in his face. It isn’t much, but it’s something to hold on to. “Say something,” Dante says, bracing himself for the worst. “Anything.”

“I… don’t know what to say.” Tyson’s still, eyes wide, reminding Dante a little bit of a deer caught in the headlights and then his brows furrow, almost as if he’s angry about it all. If looks could kill, Dante’s sure he’d be dead by now.

“God,” Dante says breathlessly. He didn’t know he was holding it in. “Sorry, just, uh, forget I said anything. It’s really hot out and the sun does stupid things to people. I didn’t—”

“Dante,” Tyson finally says, voice just above a whisper. “Shut up.”

It’s not what Dante’s expecting, but he does as he’s told. He abandons his vegetables, watching as Tyson moves in closer, heart racing when Tyson stops in front of him. And he knows he’s supposed to shut up but he’s still mid-panic and all that comes out is another, “I’m sorry.”

“I saw the mark.” Tyson hesitates, but reaches out, touching Dante’s arm.

He jumps, Tyson’s fingertips feeling like fire against his skin. It’s quickly forgotten when Dante registers his words. He’s seen it. He’s _seen it_ and said nothing until now. Dante doesn’t know if Tyson’s seen his own, but must by the way he’s leaning closer. “It’s like yours. Kind of. I don’t know. That doesn’t mean we’re, you know.”

“Soulmates?” It rolls off of Tyson’s tongue so easily. “You haven’t figured out by now that I’m into you?”

Dante laughs. Not because something is funny— because he’s nervous and doesn’t quite know why. Because if he _doesn’t_ laugh, he might possibly pass out. He _knows_ Tyson— knew that hooking up was more than that, despite everything after being left unspoken and now there’s this 99% chance that Tyson really _is_ his soulmate. It’s, quite frankly, terrifying. Chewing on his bottom lip, head tilted, he looks at Tyson. “How long did you know?”

Tyson smiles. “Since I met you.”

“No— I— uh,” Dante stutters, cheeks growing warm. It’s not the answer he’s expecting. “I meant about the soulmark. How long did you know?”

“Oh,” Tyson says and it’s his turn to blush, ducking his head. “I mean you don’t exactly wear clothes when we’re together so, like, right away, I guess?”

“You guess?”

“I felt it first,” Tyson says, voice soft. “Like, a little tingle in my fingertips. Like an electric shock, but… nice.”

Dante nods, remembering the first time his fingers brushed the back of Tyson’s neck— how it was warm, tingling and yet inviting. Like he longed for something more. Like he was home. He doesn’t say anything, shifting back and forth between his feet and causes Tyson to reach out to him. 

“Come here.” Tyson steps in, arms slipping around Dante— one at the waist, the other, higher, fingers just inches from his neck. 

“I’m here,” Dante whispers, eyes closing when Tyson’s forehead leans against his own. He doesn’t have to ask where this is going. He already knows.

There’s a warm sensation that begins at the base of his neck— an indication that Tyson’s fingers are close— hovering just above his soulmark. Tyson’s fingers brush the skin, resting there, and by the way his breath hitches, Dante knows he feels that sudden spark. He feels it too, briefly. When Tyson’s hand moves away, the sensation leaves his body, prompting his eyes to open.

“So that means we’re…” Dante clears his throat. There’s no real way to put it into words other than to use the obvious term. “ _Soulmates_.”

“Yeah,” Tyson says. “I guess we are.”

..

The most common misconception is that once you’ve found your soulmate, it’s _easy_. Dante doesn’t expect a sudden cosmic shift and Tyson, though a bit more handsy, doesn’t seem to sense any change either.

“It doesn’t have to change much,” Tyson says casually at one point and _okay_ Dante thinks. He’s right. Mat and Gabe will still show up tomorrow. They’ll still paddleboard, taking turns throwing each other in the lake and if Tyson catches Dante off guard and drags him to the side of the house to steal a kiss, it’s not entirely new. It’s just a little less bros now, or whatever.

Dante nods. “Still friends, right?”

“Obviously,” Tyson says with a roll of his eyes. “More than that, probably?”

There’s plenty of things Dante prides himself on being good at. He’s pretty decent at hockey _and_ guitar, he loves and spoils his family and most importantly, he does every little thing with as much heart as possible— even if it’s figuring out how to like, _be_ a soulmate. “Oh. Oh yeah.”

Tyson snorts, pats Dante on the leg, stretches and that seems to be Dante’s cue to pack it all in for the night and go to bed. They can talk about it tomorrow.

When he’s alone in his room, and Tyson is down the hall, humming while he brushes his teeth, Dante tries his best not to think about Tyson’s soulmark and how touching it feels. Just the thought of it seems to be making his own soulmark react, warm and tingling over the base of his neck. He thinks discovering them must have caused some sort of extra sense gained between then, because Tyson appears in the doorway seconds later.

Whatever it is, Tyson must feel it too.

“What’s up, man?” Dante tugs on a clean, white t-shirt, smoothing his hand over the front of it.

“Should I, uh,” Tyson mumbles, standing in the doorway of Dante’s room. He motions down the hall towards the room he’s meant to stay in— the one that was his _before_ the soulmates thing was laid out on the table.

“You don’t have to?” Dante pulls back the covers of his bed. It’s big enough that both could easily fit, though it’s something Dante hadn’t imagined would happen outside of them potentially hooking up at least once that weekend.

Tyson nods, turning towards the hallway. “Okay. See you tomorrow?”

“W— wait,” Dante stutters and the way Tyson perks up makes his stomach reel, knowing neither actually want to sleep alone. “I mean, I’m not tired or anything. We can hang out here a little longer.”

“Movie?” Tyson slips inside of the bedroom, closes the door and he’s between the sheets before Dante can second guess his decision. “Or we can prank call someone.”

Dante laughs. “We’re not kids anymore, Tys.”

“We’re _kind of_ kids.” Tyson’s grin is lopsided as he reaches for the remote. 

“Fine,” Dante says, plugging in his phone and leaving it at the bedside table. “But I’m not about to prank call anyone.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Tyson whines, abandoning the remote for his own phone. “We can fuck with Mat.”

And, okay. Dante wouldn’t say he’s like the _most_ mature, but prank calls are juvenile and he doesn’t think he’s even done one literally ever— not because he’s boring or too well-behaved or anything like that (he isn’t)— because if he’s going to tease someone, it’s direct and to their face.

But then he remembers Mat practically flashing him his ass in his kitchen and the idea of messing with Mat suddenly feels like more of his civic duty than some childish prank. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Tyson pumps his fist. “Hell yes!”

“So what should we say?” After a speedy google search, Dante scrolls through his phone. They both quickly veto the ‘refrigerator running’ prank and calling Mat with a fake voice, asking why he called them first just seems stupid.

“Let’s tell him he we’re from a modeling agency and he has to clear his schedule immediately,” Tyson says, laughing. “Like they want him available tomorrow.”

“That’s bad.” Dante laughs, shaking his head. It might actually work. “Let’s do it.”

It’s Tyson who has to block his number and disguise his voice because even though Dante is good at a lot of things, keeping his composure is _not_ one of them. He has to hold a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing when Tyson, in some fake, thick French accent begins talking.

“Hello, yes, this is Pierre from the Vancouver modeling agency,” Tyson says, biting his lip when it seems as if Mat’s taking the bait. “We have an opening for an upcoming shoot and request your immediate presence. Are you free tomorrow at, say, 5 PM?”

The line is silent for a moment and Dante’s convinced Mat’s considering.

“Oh, fuck off you two,” Mat groans, disconnecting the call.

With wide eyes, Dante looks to Tyson who drops the phone, causing both to erupt in laughter. Dante’s phone buzzes not long after and when he grabs it, reading the single _grow up_ text, he does the most logical thing he can think of and laughs harder.

“Oh my god,” Tyson says, leaning against Dante’s side and wiping at his eyes. “He’s going to kill us.”

“Nah,” Dante manages, once he’s stopped laughing uncontrollably. “I have dirt on him.”

Tyson grins.

..

Tyson turns on a movie.

It’s something about robots or whatever. Dante doesn’t really know and stops paying attention five minutes in. The dialogue is terrible and in his defense, so is Tyson’s choice in movies. Soulmates or not, he’s not afraid to let that be known.

“This is really dumb,” Dante says, laying back to stare up at the ceiling. Had there been tiles on the ceiling, he’d much rather be counting those. 

“What?!” Tyson protests. “You haven’t even given it a chance.”

“I gave it, like, five whole minutes.” Dante sits up, grabbing the remote. When he shuts it off, Tyson gasps. “It’s almost midnight anyway.”

“It’s summer,” Tyson mumbles, reaching for the remote but Dante’s too fast for him, tucking it behind his pillow. “And now you’re back to being lame.”

“I am _not_ lame!” It’s Dante’s turn to gasp, poking Tyson’s side. “Take that back.”

“Never!” Tyson squirms, leans over and then they’re grappling, arms flailing— Tyson reaching for the remote but Dante doing his best to keep it away. They roll around like that, stupidly, until Dante’s able to pin Tyson down. 

“Take it back,” Dante repeats, softer but Tyson doesn’t budge.

He looks up at Dante, eyes large and soft and stubbornly silent.

So Dante leans down, grips the front of his shirt and kisses him— hard.

“Cheater,” Tyson mumbles against his lips, arm wrapping around to pull Dante closer, kissing him until they’re both breathless, clothing strewn about.

Dante has enough time to take a few deep breaths when they move apart.

And then Tyson’s on him.

“You’re the worst,” Dante manages when Tyson’s palms press him back against the headboard, knees resting on either side of his hips. To be fair, he attempted to talk and he thinks that maybe he still can, somehow, until Tyson’s sliding down on his dick.

“I’m about to be the best,” Tyson says, mouth covering Dante’s when it opens, stopping him from speaking. Not that Dante remembers what he was going to say. A chirp or something. It stops mattering when Tyson begins to rock his hips.

Dante can’t argue. His hands are occupied, fingers splayed over Tyson’s hips, brain already short-circuiting by the simplest of movements. Tyson seems to know his way around Dante easily, tilting his head down and kissing him with the softest of moans. It’s like, too fucking hot, Dante decides quickly.

“You know what the best part of being soulmates is?” Tyson’s eyes are soft, fluttering shut when Dante drags his mouth over the hollow of his neck. He moves along, kissing across his collar bone, nipping and sucking at the skin until Tyson’s hips are rolling down a bit more urgently.

With one final bite, Dante lifts his head, examining the marks left behind. Mat and Gabe and anyone else who shows up tomorrow will see them. They’ll get chirped and whatever, Dante decides. They’re soulmates. They’re allowed to do this now. “Having sex?”

“Yeah,” Tyson exhales, breath hitching when Dante wraps a hand around his dick. “But, like— _fuck_ — we can do this all of the time.” 

“We already do this all of the time,” Dante reminds him, even if it’s less frequent during the season. He stops thinking about it when Tyson shivers and drags his teeth over Dante’s neck this time around.

Tyson’s close— Dante knows by the way his slows down, breathing turning ragged. He grips his hips again, thumb running over the skin and coaxes him, thought cut short by Tyson’s teeth sinking into his shoulder. A shaky groan is all he manages.

“Close,” Tyson mumbles into Dante’s neck, lifting his head so that their foreheads can meet.

Dante easily takes over, rolling his hips up until Tyson’s unable to do anything other than elicit some of the best moans Dante thinks he’s heard— ever. He watches when Tyson takes to stroking himself, amazed by the way his eyes flutter shut and mouth drops open.

Tyson comes, body arched over, making a mess of his hand and Dante’s stomach and probably part of the sheet, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Dante did this— that he can keep doing this if he wants because in some weird twist of fate, Tyson is his and he is Tyson’s.

It’s not long after that Dante’s world goes fuzzy at the edges and he, too, comes with a groan that makes Tyson smirk against his neck. He doesn’t see it— doesn’t have to. He just knows. He slumps down, Tyson to follow and neither make much of an effort to move from there.

Dante, instead, closes his eyes and listens to Tyson’s breathing. “You asleep?”

The only answer is a slight, barely audible sound that tells Dante he’s already out. He’s careful when he leans over and turns out the light and gentle in his settling back down against the mattress.

Dante could get up and make a half-assed attempt to clean off the sheet— he knows Tyson won’t wake up. He just doesn’t. He, instead, closes his eyes and focuses on the steady and soothing sound of Tyson’s breaths. They’re the last thing he focuses on before he, too, falls asleep.

..

It’s Dante who wakes up first, Tyson practically drooling on his shoulder. He wants to shove him off because though he looks peaceful, it’s also pretty gross. The thing is, he doesn’t.

Tyson stirs, luckily, and Dante’s able to pull his half-asleep arm out from under him. “You’re drooling, dude.”

“Morning to you too,” Tyson whispers, voice raspy. He yawns and looks at him, only one eye open. “Anyone here yet?”

Dante laughs. “God, I hope not. It’s not even nine yet.”

“Early.” Tyson mumbles, sitting up with a hum and slipping out from under the sheets. When he looks over his shoulder, he grins in a way that’s meant to be suggestive. “I’m going to take a quick shower before the peanut gallery gets here.”

“Quote the ringleader,” Dante says with a grin, watching Tyson’s middle finger go up as he exits the room.

He can’t exactly shower and joining Tyson, though fun, seems counterproductive, so Dante pulls on some shorts and strips the bed sheets instead. By the time Tyson’s finished showering, Dante has the curtains open and a fresh new set of sheets on the bed.

The running water stops and seconds later, Tyson shouts down the hall, “I’m almost done!”

There’s something about it that makes Dante feel downright fond. He pictures a lifetime of waking up with Tyson and reveling in the mundane— pictures what life could be like _after_ that, when they’re older and hopefully wiser— and lastly, he pictures kissing Tyson whenever and wherever he wants.

When Tyson walks into the room, his heart hammers within his chest and though Dante doesn’t think love (lust?) should be painful, he thinks that maybe, in this case, it’s okay— that his heart can endure a lifetime of beating this hard if it’s caused by Tyson’s lips against his own.

He doesn’t realize he’s frozen until Tyson speaks.

“Are you going to shower or did you just want to stand there all day and stink up the place?”

Tyson’s voice jolts Dante back to reality and his cheeks grow pink when he realizes that not only is he just standing there, clean clothes in hand, he’s also _staring_. Dante shifts between both feet and then turns around rather quickly, taking a few steps towards the door. “No, I’m going to shower, thank you!”

“ _Please_ ,” Tyson says, mocking plugging his nose with his usual laugh. “I’m going to make breakfast and if you don’t take too long, maybe there will be some left for you.”

“There better be food for me,” Dante says somewhere between the bedroom and the bathroom. “I bought those eggs!”

Tyson just snorts. “Then I won’t make eggs, I’ll make waffles!”

It isn’t until Dante’s in the bathroom that he slaps his palm to his forehead. Waffles contain eggs. Taking a deep breath, Dante turns on the water and silently hopes that Tyson doesn’t manage to burn the place down within the next ten minutes.

Luckily, ten minutes pass without any blaring of smoke alarms and when Dante steps out of the shower the air smells both sweet like maple and savory like bacon. He gets dressed quickly— because there’s still time for Tyson to set something on fire— and makes his way to the kitchen, surprised to see Tyson already setting up two plates on the table.

“You… cooked?” Dante doesn’t mean to laugh, it’s just— last time Tyson cooked was _memorable_ to say the least. He remembers a bewildered Tyson standing in the center of the kitchen with a pot of burnt spaghetti— something neither are able to figure out to this day. 

“Yeah,” Tyson says, raising an eyebrow. “Like it’s hard?”

“You remember the spaghetti incident, right?” Dante pulls out a chair, looking over the plate. There’s eggs and bacon and hashbrowns and it not only smells good but looks good, too.

“Funny.” Tyson pours two mugs of coffee and sets one in front of Dante before sitting in the opposite seat. “I thought we both agreed that never happened.”

Dante takes a bite of eggs and covers his mouth to laugh. “ _You_ agreed to that. I never did. I’ll take that to my grave.”

“You want to make that sooner rather than later?” Tyson waves his fork but ends up laughing too.

“Not yet,” Dante says, shaking his head in between bites of bacon. “Not until we figure this thing out.”

“Thing?” Tyson lowers his fork, stabbing at some eggs. “You mean the soulmarks? I think they match. You don’t get all tingly in the fingers if it’s a dud. At least that’s what Kacey says.”

Dante can’t help but laugh. “And how would Kacey know?”

“She wouldn’t first hand,” Tyson says, wrinkling his nose. He pushes his plate back once it’s cleared and reaches for his coffee mug. “But she sent me some links. A series of tests.”

“Tests?” Dante takes one more bite before setting down his fork, too. He doesn’t have to know what they entail— if it involves Tyson, he’s shamelessly interested. “Let’s do it.”

..

“So, uh,” Dante shifts on the couch, watching as Tyson scrolls through his texts. “This isn’t going to hurt, is it?”

Tyson appears to be looking through his texts, stopping with an _aha!_ When he finds the link. He isn’t very convincing when he answers. “I don’t think so?”

“Okay,” Dante says, setting his hands in his lap to keep from fidgeting. “So what is the first test?”

“We compare them, which, okay, did that,” Tyson says, scrolling further. He furrows his brows the further he seems to go until he stops, sounding audibly frustrated. “And the touch test. But we did that already.”

“There isn’t like, a _So You Found Out You and Your Best Friend Are Soulmates_ manual or something?” Dante leans over, trying to take a peek at Tyson’s phone. “What did your teammates do?”

“Comphs and Kerf?” Tyson laughs. “They’re bigger idiots than we are.”

“Oh,” Dante exhales, smiling slightly. “So then calling them is probably off the table.”

“Probably?” Tyson lowers his phone. “They’ll chirp me for weeks. They’re worse than you. And we’re sleeping together.”

“Fair,” Dante says, briefly wondering if this was all a mistake— if _temporary_ soulmates are a thing or if either of them could take it back with the simple uttering of a single world. He doesn’t want that. “So like, our secret then, right?”

Tyson just frowns. “I mean, I guess?”

Dante’s heart just sinks.

There must be something telling in his look or the way he _doesn’t_ look at Tyson anymore that forces Tyson to rethink his wording. “I mean not until we _know_ for sure.”

“But I _am_ sure.” Dante doesn’t know what makes him finally say it. He just _does_. It gives him a rush, like diving out of a plane and as he begins to fall, hopes Tyson will be there to catch him.

Tyson drops his phone, moving closer. “I am too.”

“Why?” It’s slightly self-deprecating though Dante laughs when he asks, as if to cover the idea that part of him finds it hard to believe how someone— _Tyson_ of all people— is sure about _him_.

“Listen,” Tyson says just above a whisper, hands coming up to cup Dante’s face. “You’re, you know, _you_.”

“Yeah, I’ve been me my whole life.” It’s a stupid thing to say when Tyson’s mouth is just inches from his own, but Dante wouldn’t have spent the past month avoiding his soulmate had he any common sense. 

Tyson laughs, thumb lightly brushing across Dante’s cheek. It isn’t the spark that gets him this time. It’s the way his stomach flutters from a simple touch, making him wonder how he’s been so stupid— his soulmate’s always been there, right before his eyes. “I like you, Dante.”

“Well that’s good,” he says— again, _stupid_.

“Really good,” Tyson agrees. His smile is enough to ease his nerves, but Tyson’s touch does the opposite, making his heart beat faster. He drops his hand down, resting it at Dante’s shoulder and it helps, sort of, though Dante admittedly misses the soothing caress.

“Tyson?” Dante mentally counts to three, preparing himself to be brave. _They’re soulmates_ , he tells himself over and over again, along with _you can do this_ and _he likes you, idiot_. It’s not the best pep talk, but it’ll do. 

Tyson tilts his head ever so slightly. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?” He counts to three once again, or tries, anyway, only half-making it to two before Tyson’s lips meet his own. It isn’t new. They’ve kissed, like, a lot, and yet— somehow— it feels as if it’s the first time. In a way, it is.

“That was new,” Tyson says, as if having read his mind.

“Was it?” Dante ducks his head. He knows he’s playing coy. “I mean we used to make out in Penticton like, a lot.”

“I know.” Tyson just about blushes. “But we weren’t dating then.”

Dante nearly chokes on air. “We’re dating?”

“Well, no,” Tyson says, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smile. “But we could be?”

“Is this your way of asking me out?” Dante raises an eyebrow.

Tyson grins. “Do you want me to ask you out?”

“No,” Dante says with a laugh, leaning in when Tyson gasps. He cups Tyson’s face this time around deciding he’s done ignoring the way Tyson makes his stomach fill up with butterflies. “I’m asking you.”

They kiss, but not before Tyson rolls his eyes, deeming Dante a _complete idiot_.

..

Paddy is the first one to arrive with visible sunscreen and a big, stupid bucket hat that Tyson promises to chirp him for the entire time they’re at the cabin. He takes it like a champ, mumbling something about sun protection, hitting back with, “There’s nothing wrong with a little protection. You never know what’s out there.”

“Gross,” Tyson says, glancing over to Dante with a grin.

Paddy figures it out immediately.

Dante isn’t surprised. Paddy was the one who caught them sneaking off in Penticton, though back then it wasn’t exactly shocking. He’s the reason they kissed in the first place, after a night of stolen beers and a stupid game of truth or dare that Dante adamantly never wanted to play. In the end, he did because he’s no chicken and when he thinks back, is almost thankful that Paddy’s always been that older, slightly perverted brother.

“So when’s the wedding?” Paddy laughs when Tyson gives him the middle finger.

“Dude,” Dante says, rubbing some sunscreen on his slightly red shoulders. “It’s been like five minutes.”

Paddy’s grin is ridiculously large. “Yeah, okay, but finally, am I right?”

Dante just hums. Tyson, shaking his head with a laugh, heads towards the house. “I’m going to go grab the food for grilling. Gabe just texted that he’ll be here in five and I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving.”

“I’ll start the grill,” Paddy volunteers.

“Sure,” Dante says, digging in another cooler for the potato salad. “We’re surrounded by water so you can’t burn anything down.”

“Oh God,” Gabe says, rounding the corner, bag over his shoulder. “You’re letting him cook? We’re going to end up with food poisoning.”

“He is _not_ grilling,” Tyson replies from the doorway, sliding the glass door behind him as he steps out on the patio. 

Dante smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners upon Tyson’s reemergence and Gabe turns to look between both him and Tyson, eyebrow raising. “Dude.”

“What?” Tyson sets containers of marinated chicken and vegetables by the grill. “He can’t cook.”

Gabe looks over at Paddy who’s already stepping away from the grill, crestfallen. “They’re dating, aren’t they?”

Paddy’s dejected look is swiftly replaced by a hearty laugh. “You noticed the stupid looks between them too, huh?”

“Yep,” Gabe says, passing between both Paddy and Tyson. “But that’s nothing new, dude.”

Dante gives his best offended look and Tyson does, too, despite knowing all to well that they were probably doomed to keep anything a secret from the start.

Gabe brings his bags inside and Dante shows him to the room he’s sharing with Paddy— two large beds and a flat screen TV that they’ll likely never use.

When they make their way back outside, Tyson stops flipping corn on the grill to catch Dante’s gaze. Tyson’s eyes seem to light up and from what Dante’s told, later that night, so do his.

“Food will be ready in about ten minutes,” Tyson says, smiling long after he’s turned his focus back to the grill.

Mat shows up about an hour late at no surprise to anyone. He gives some bitter-sounding excuse about needing to meet with some photographer— a dig at the prank call from the night prior. When he settles down in a lounge chair, he’s quick to spot Tyson’s hand in Dante’s and raises an eyebrow with what could only be described as a devious smirk. “So.”

“Fuck off,” Dante says without hesitation, turning to Tyson. “Tell him to fuck off.”

Tyson laughs. “Fuck off, Barz.”

“Wow, I’m hurt.” Mat clutches his chest, feigning offense. “And to think I drove all the way out here to see two of my best friends.”

Dante snorts, “Yeah, Jack and the Captain.”

“I thought he’s all about Tito’s now.” Tyson gives the proudest grin. “Heard it’s serious.”

“Fuck off,” Mat says. “You two really are soulmates, Jesus.”

Dante turns to Tyson who immediately turns back. They stare, briefly, only to burst out into a fit of laughter. 

Mat, groaning, leans over and reaches for the cooler, grabbing a beer. “This is going to be a long next couple of days, isn’t it?”

“I hope so,” Dante says, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me @ dejadejayou on twitter.


End file.
